


constellations

by toomoon (jjjat3am)



Category: ONEWE (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Alternative Universe - Famous/Non-Famous, Canon Compliant, Gen, alternative universe, yes all of those apply
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26757097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/toomoon
Summary: “Please join our band!” is what Harin says instead, wincing at the volume of his voice. Yonghoon blinks at him, startled. Somewhere behind him, Dongmyeong whispers ‘oh my god, he's fucking it up,’ under his breath.“Yeah, okay,” Yonghoon says, “I’ll join your band.”"Wait, really?" Harin asks.or,4 ways that ONEWE didn't ask Yonghoon to join their band and one way they did
Relationships: Jin Yonghoon & Ju Harin, Jin Yonghoon & Kang Hyungu | Kanghyun, Jin Yonghoon & Lee Giwook | Cya, Jin Yonghoon & Son Dongmyeong
Comments: 39
Kudos: 94
Collections: WEUS Harvest Moon Fest





	constellations

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I hope you can share in my Onewe feels with me.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone for their hard work for this fest. I'm really proud of all of us.

1.

  
  


Yonghoon aims a smile at the auntie giving away the second-place prize. He’s at least reasonably sure that it communicates charm rather than the disappointment he’s feeling. 

He doesn’t necessarily need the prize money, though it would be useful. The company takes care of his housing needs and gives him a small stipend for food, and he scrapes up the rest of the money for expenses through his part-time job. He could have bought a new laptop though, maybe one without pirated music producing software that crashes every thirty minutes on the dot. He could have bought a new guitar. Maybe some new BB cream, since the old one is causing him to break out.

Or maybe, it isn’t the BB cream’s fault that he’s got breakouts all over his chin. The truth is that he’s stressed. Has been for years now, ever since he joined Cube Entertainment and realized that making a living as a singer wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d imagined it to be. 

Yonghoon is a good singer. He knows this. His vocal teacher knows this. The other trainees know this. Cube’s executives know this. Even Eunkwang from BTOB knows this, from when he’d once, memorably, stopped by a practice room and listened in on the monthly evaluations.

The problem is that being a good singer isn’t enough.

Yonghoon is an awkward dancer. He can practice late into the night and the early morning, till his legs tremble and his joints ache, but he’s never going to make his movements look anything but robotic and unwieldy. He’s not charming or witty enough to make it in variety. He’s not beautiful enough to float by on visual alone. 

_ ‘You just lack the star power,’ _ is what a coach told him last week, voice dripping in false sincerity, and, _ ‘wouldn’t you consider taking a break, making space for someone younger?’ _

The problem is that Yonghoon is considering it. It doesn’t feel worth it anymore, to be so tired all the time. It’s harder to stay up so late, fighting for a dream that he isn’t sure he believes in anymore. His body aches and he can’t hide the dark circles under his eyes no matter how much cheap concealer he applies. 

The truth is, he doesn’t need the first-place prize money from a small singing competition hosted by a music academy. But he really could have used the confidence boost.

Still, he can’t be too upset. The band of highschoolers who won seemed so excited and happy, jumping all over each other and holding hands as they received their prize. Honestly, there were moments in their performance when you could forget they were so young. The drums and bass were tight and the guitar player handled his guitar very confidently. And their singer had pleasant vocals, and he seemed so unselfconscious on stage. Maybe there was some of the star power that Yonghoon lacked. 

He hurries to gather his stuff from backstage, stowing the placard in his backpack as he checks his watch. He needs to leave in the next five minutes if he doesn’t want to miss dance practice. His body aches just thinking about it, but if he’s late he’ll be scolded again. And if he misses it…

“Um, excuse me,” Yonghoon hears behind him and turns around. Think of the devil - it’s the band, fronted by the drummer, the rest of them peeking from behind the bulk of his torso. 

“Ah, am I in your way?” Yonghoon says, smiling at them and rushing to snatch up his bag. There’s a lot more that goes into packing up instruments than him picking up a CD with his background music. “Sorry about that. And congratulations on the win!”

He doesn’t want them to think he’s jealous or cold. He’s trying to mentally calculate how much time the exchange has already taken off his commute. If he catches the train at - 

“No!” The drummer says, vehemently enough that Yonghoon pauses, and there’s a small beat of awkward silence in which the other boy’s ears go entirely red. “I mean, we were looking for you.”

“Oh,” Yonghoon frowns, sweeping his eyes across the small group. “For me? What for?”

The drummer turns around to look at his band. Almost in unison, they all give him a thumbs up and encouraging looks. It’s kind of cute and Yonghoon can feel his smile relax into something more genuine.

“I’m Harin,” Harin says, turning around to look at Yonghoon, squaring up his shoulders like he’s gearing up for a fight. He points at the boys standing behind him. “And these are Hyungu, Dongmyeong, and Giwook. We want you to join our band.”

Yonghoon can feel his mouth go slack. He stares at Harin, and then at the band, all of them wearing identical hopeful looks. “Um,” he says.

His first coherent thought is that he must have misunderstood. He’s a washed-up trainee, barely clinging to his position with his company. It feels like actual years since anyone but his parents have told him that they wanted him. 

There’s an uncomfortably long period of silence in which Yonghoon tries in vain to corral his wayward thoughts into something coherent. His brain keeps getting stuck on the band’s performance, the way they seemed to just be having so much fun.

Finally, Hyungu steps from behind Harin, smiling shyly. “Do you want to get lunch with us?” he asks.

Harin nods, seemingly relieved, and points towards the placard in Dongmyeong’s hands. “Yeah! Come to lunch with us, we have all this money to spend.”

Yonghoon should say no. He’s got dance practice in an hour and he’s already late. He doesn’t know what will happen to him if he doesn’t show. He should say no because he’s got no business hanging around a bunch of high schoolers. He should say no because someone like him has no business dragging them down. 

“Alright,” Yonghoon says, smiling when the youngest members let out an excited yell. “I’ll go to lunch with you. I haven’t said yes to joining your band yet.”

But he will, he knows that already. He wants to have fun on stage again, wants to be a part of something that has the potential to be as good as this band does. He wants to be somewhere that makes him feel like he’s wanted.

He moves to assist Giwook with his bass case, slinging it over his shoulder before the younger boy can because it looks huge in his small hands, and then he follows his band out the door, somehow unable to keep himself from smiling.

*

2.

To say that Giwook is surprised that Jin Yonghoon’s company wants him to work on a track for him is an understatement. In fact, when he gets the phone call, he’s so startled that he falls out of his desk chair and then has to tell the representative that there’s massive construction on the roads outside his studio, to explain the noise.

It’s not that Giwook isn’t confident in his skills as a producer, because he is. He’s gotten some acclaim for his work, despite his youth, and he’s established himself in the business as professional and pleasant to work with. It’s just that his experiences so far have been working with either hip-hop artists or bands. Not soloists renowned for their ballads.

And no one he’s worked with so far had been as massive as Jin Yonghoon is. His songs consistently shoot to the top of the charts as soon as they’re released. A leisurely stroll through the city attracts hundreds to follow in his wake. Brands are fighting over who gets to sponsor him since he sells out their products in minutes.

Giwook is so nervous to meet him that he can barely eat breakfast. Dongmyeong has to practically force him to sit down and eat a few mouthfuls of porridge. Harin hugs him tightly before he leaves the apartment for the studio and that at least makes him feel a little steadier. He’s right in the middle of smiling at Hyungu’s encouraging text when there’s a knock on the studio door.

Jin Yonghoon’s manager enters first and Giwook shoots to his feet to bow and greet him. Yonghoon follows in his wake and Giwook peeks at him through his bangs, curious.

He’s worked with a lot of different people over the years. Humble and grateful, and arrogant and disobedient, he’s ready for anything when confronted with a new artist. His first thought is that Jin Yonghoon looks tired.

Yonghoon is tall, big enough that he makes Giwook’s studio feel small, and forcing him to tilt his head up to meet his eyes. He’s holding a takeaway cup of coffee that’s as big as Giwook’s head. He’s makeup-less but still somehow stunning, belying the dark circles under his eyes and his unstyled hair, a little damaged by bleach. 

(Giwook knows a lot about bleach damaged hair - he’s known Hyungu since they were kids, and the thought of Jin Yonghoon having something in common with one of his best friends, even something as banal as a suffering scalp, is somehow comforting.)

His smile is gentle though, and charming, as he sets down his bag and sits across from Giwook, his eyes catching curiously on the multitude of buttons and dials that make up his recording set-up. It gives Giwook enough courage to ask about his well-being.

“I was recording a CF before this and it ran late. I haven’t actually slept,” Yonghoon explains with a rueful smile, and then, misinterpreting Giwook’s alarmed look, he goes on to say, “but don’t worry! I made sure to be careful of my voice so I could be ready for today!”

That isn’t what Giwook was worried about, but he swallows down his words. It isn’t his job to question the artist’s ability to do their work, and Yonghoon’s manager looks unbothered. He turns on his computer and steers the conversation to the track they’re going to be working on.

Putting away all the noise and their respective positions, it makes sense that Yonghoon wanted Giwook to work on this song in particular. It differs from his usual fare, with a sound rooted in rock music, with tight guitars and a strong drumline, and Yonghoon’s voice soaring above the melody. 

Harin would do well on the drums here, Giwook finds himself thinking and squashes the thought. Harin isn’t a session drummer anymore - he’s an elementary school music teacher that drums on the weekends. 

He and Yonghoon talk about the song a bit more. Giwook is surprised to learn that Yonghoon has strong thoughts about what it could be, but he’s not pushy. He listens to what Giwook has to say with a look of intense focus on his face, the tired lines falling away.

When it becomes time to record, Giwook allows himself the first run-through to just listen because Yonghoon’s vocals are beautiful, even first thing in the morning after a night of no sleep. But after that first run-through, Giwook is all business. Yonghoon has tremendous vocal control but he can be better, Giwook can hear it, so he pushes. And pushes. By the time they’ve rerecorded everything what feels like a hundred times, and Yonghoon stumbles out of the recording booth to his cup of hot lemon water, he’s glaring at Giwook, the barest hint of a smile threatening to ruin the image of his anger.

“You’re a hard taskmaster, Cya-ssi,” he says, and by then he’s openly laughing, and Giwook is laughing with him because they’ve got a good recording. They’ve got a great recording and a good song, and the high of working on it is exhilarating. 

The time the artist is supposed to leave comes and goes. Giwook is strangely not surprised that Yonghoon’s butt remains rooted in the desk chair, the other pair of headphones over his ears, as Giwook’s fingers fly over the keys, adjusting the recording. 

The session musicians come in to record their parts and it’s interesting to see them stumble over their words or their instruments when they realize that Yonghoon is there in the studio. 

Yonghoon’s manager disappears at some point, only to be replaced with another manager with bags of takeaway, that they eat right there, sitting on the carpeted studio floor and arguing over the bridge. 

After all the parts of the song get recorded, that’s where Giwook’s work begins. He often finds that most people don’t stick around for this part and all the tedious fiddly bits that go into making a track align. Yonghoon stays.

At some point, Giwook turns around to find him asleep in the chair, neck bent at an uncomfortable angle, face slack, and curiously vulnerable in the artificial light. Giwook turns away, feeling almost like he’s witnessing something he’s not supposed to, but half an hour later, Yonghoon is wide awake and has opinions about cymbals.

They finish the track late afternoon after Giwook spends an inordinate amount of time fiddling with it, because he and Yonghoon are still arguing over the bridge and he’d never admit it out loud, but he’s enjoying the back and forth.

Giwook checks his phone finally, and the time has him sucking in a breath. Dongmyeong has already texted him about dinner plans.

“Yonghoon-sii,” Giwook says, horrified, “don’t you have schedules? I’ve kept you all day.”

Yonghoon shrugs, smiling slightly from where he’d been quietly staring at the darkened window of the sound booth. “It’s my day off today,” he says lightly.

“That’s even worse,” Giwook says, “I’ve kept you from your rest! Why didn’t you say anything? You could have gone home hours ago.”

Yonghoon smiles, leaning back in the desk chair to swing around, as much as he can, long limbs and cramped space. “There’s no one at home waiting for me,” he says, with a lightness that Giwook thinks might be deceptive. “So it’s okay. I liked spending time with you.”

The suddenly flirty tone would be distracting if Giwook didn’t think that it was meant to distract him. 

It sounds lonely. Giwook has lived with or around his bandmates almost all his life. As if on cue, his phone lights up with another message from Dongmyeong, the tone progressively annoyed at Giwook’s inactivity. Looking between it and Yonghoon’s pensive face, Giwook makes a decision.

“Would you like to have dinner with my friends tonight?” Giwook blurts out and Yonghoon’s expressions slackens into surprise.

“Oh,” he says, stuttering, “I wouldn’t want to impose-”

It’s the most uncertain that Giwook has heard him all day. And normally he wouldn’t press, but a gut feeling tells him that he should.

“They won’t mind,” Giwook insists. “We usually have people over anyway. My roommate always makes too much food and then complains about the leftovers, you’ll be saving me some whining if you take a portion off our hands.”

The smile that spreads across Yonghoon’s face is hesitant but it becomes real when Giwook smiles back. Giwook texts Dongmyeong that he’s bringing a friend over. Dongmyeong grumbles, but Giwook knows he’s not mad. Dongmyeong is, at his core, a nurturing person. He’s way more emotionally perceptive than Giwook is. He’ll take one look at Yonghoon and see all the nuance that Giwook has probably been missing.

It’s weird, being driven to his apartment by Yonghoon’s manager. Giwook usually takes the underground, switches two lines and listens to all of his favorite new releases on the way. Sometimes, he’ll covertly record the sound of the train, the indistinct chatter, and the echo of the tannoy system, thinking he’ll use it in a song someday. He never does, but he likes thinking about it.

By contrast, the first ten minutes in the car are quiet, save for the pop song playing on the radio. Giwook doesn’t know what to say to break the awkward silence, and he watches Yonghoon start to fidget in his seat with no small amount of alarm.

“So,” Yonghoon finally says after an awkward cough, “tell me about your friends?”

Giwook smiles. Not to brag, but he could talk about his friends for hours. 

“Well, there’s Harin,” he starts, “he teaches music at a private elementary school. He’s really sweet and kind of goofy, really good with the kids. He’s a really good drummer, honestly, he could have gone to an orchestra or something, but he likes working with children, as much as they drive him up the wall.”

Yonghoon laughs slightly, and he’s watching him with wide, interested eyes so Giwook keeps talking.

“There’s Dongmyeong, he’s my roommate. He’s been my best friend for ages. We were neighbors before we moved in together. He’s a makeup artist, he works full time with SBS, travels around a lot.”

Yonghoon squints. “Wait,” he says, “a tiny kid, this high,” he sketches the appropriate height with his hands, “wears really bright embroidered waistcoats?”

Giwook can’t help laughing. Dongmyeong always stands out, even if he doesn’t try. “That sounds like him,” he says.

“He’s never done my makeup,” Yonghoon says, “since I usually bring my own make-up artist. But I’ve seen him around.”

“He always makes an impression,” Giwook says, his chest warming with fondness. It’ll probably power his charitable feelings towards his best friends up until the next time he finds glitter all over his underwear drawer.

Yonghoon makes an agreeing noise and Giwook continues. “The last member of the band is Hyungu. He’s a session guitarist, and he writes on the side. His poetry just got published recently.”

“Wait, ‘the band’?” Yonghoon asks curiously, and Giwook bites his tongue, cheeks warming. He hadn’t meant to mention the band.

“My band,” he says, “we’ve been together since I was in middle school.”

Yonghoon looks like he wants to ask more, but they pull up in front of Giwook’s building, which gives him an excuse to escape the conversation. It feels weird, leading Yonghoon up the stairs to the second floor, as consciously aware of the dark hallways and outdated wallpaper. It’s not the worst neighborhood, but it’s probably miles away from Yonghoon’s apartment complex in the wealthiest part of the city.

They come up to the door and Giwook finds himself struggling with the key a little bit, doesn’t quite know why he’s suddenly so nervous. The key scrapes in the lock and then the door is swinging open, filling the hallway with warm light, music and the delicious smells of cooking. Giwook relaxes almost out of habit. He’s already toeing off his shoes by the time he realizes that Yonghoon hasn’t followed him inside.

He turns around, finds him hovering just outside the doorway. He gestures him in, realizes, startled, that Yonghoon might be feeling nervous too, and gets hit by an unexpected warm emotion as Yonghoon neatly lines up his boots and almost shyly hands Giwook his heavy coat.

“We’re home!” Giwook announces as he steps out of the hallway and right into chaos.

The kitchen always looks like it’s been hit by a tornado when Dongmyeong cooks. He chops onions with unnecessary flare, he juggles tomatoes, he sings at the top of his lungs and he dances. No.  _ He performs. _

He’s mid-some gyrating dance number when Yonghoon steps inside behind Giwook. Dongmyeong freezes, eyes going huge.

He screams.

Giwook starts laughing immediately as Dongmyeong throws himself across the kitchen counter to turn off the music, changing the motion into a deep bow in Yonghoon’s direction.

“Yonghoon-ssi!” he says, brightly. “Welcome to our apartment! Giwook didn’t mention you were coming.”

He turns towards Giwook, expression stormy. “You fucking bastard, I can’t believe you did this to me,” he hisses through his teeth and Giwook has to brace against the couch because his legs are failing to hold him through his laughter.

“I don’t mean to impose,” Yonghoon says, deer-in-the-headlights expression. 

Dongmyeong’s expression melts into something gentler in the face of Yonghoon’s obvious hesitation. “Don’t worry about things like that,” he says, smiling, “we have people over for dinner all the time.”

And before Yonghoon really knows what’s happening, he’s sitting down with a board and knife, chopping onions for the side dishes Dongmyeong is making, wearing a bemused but happy expression as Dongmyeong chatters at him. Giwook feels comfortable leaving them to wash up and change, and he comes out of the bedroom just in time to get the door, Hyungu and Harin bustling in with their hands full of paper bags.

They always order out with chicken because while Dongmyeong is a champ at side dishes, the last time he tried to make fried chicken it ended in disaster, so this way is safer. Yonghoon rises to his feet awkwardly when the other two enter the room and he’s quiet when Giwook introduces them.

Harin squeezes his hand, smiling brightly, and for a moment Giwook wonders if he even recognizes Yonghoon, because Harin’s music taste hovers somewhere between 1970’s blues and underground EDM, but then Harin tells Yonghoon how much his kids love his music. It makes Yonghoon light up.

Hyungu’s got this way of looking at you that’s shy but not really, and it actually makes Yonghoon flush, which Giwook didn’t think he was capable of. They sit down to eat, spreading newspapers across the floor and sitting down on cushions because there aren’t enough chairs for all of them. 

The thing is, before Giwook was a producer, before he was a writer, before he was a rapper, he was a bassist. Sometimes he thinks that he was a bassist before he was a person, but Dongmyeong doesn’t like it when he talks about himself like that, so he tries not to. But, it’s a bassist’s job to always pick up on the underlying thread in the music, to connect the instruments into a cohesive whole. To do that, he has to be good at observing.

So that’s what he does, hands elbow deep in sudsy water, washing the accumulated dishes while the others talk in the living room. Yonghoon leaning into Harin’s casual hand on his shoulder. Yonghoon taking the last piece of chicken to put it on Dongmyeong’s plate when he isn’t looking. Yonghoon leaning in close to listen to Hyungu talk about music, voice soft but eyes sparkling in the mood lighting Dongmyeong insists on.

Harin throwing a blanket over Yonghoon’s shoulders when he starts to shiver because the heating in their building is temperamental. Dongmyeong settling into the kind of satisfied quiet where he doesn’t feel the need to fill silences with aimless chatter. Hyungu’s fingers twitching as he listens to Yonghoon talk, the way they always do when he’s itching to grab his guitar and play.

Yonghoon in his designer clothes and with his ancient eyes, the tension slowly bleeding out of his shoulders as he realizes there’s space for him here. That he fits.

He fits.

The shrill ringing of Yonghoon’s mobile phone breaks through the easy atmosphere. He checks the caller ID and tension tightens in the barely-there wrinkles around his eyes.

“Excuse me,” he mutters, “I have to take this.”

He takes the call but barely says anything to the voice on the other side. By the time it ends, he looks regretful.

“I have to go,” he says, soft, apologetic, “a photoshoot has been rescheduled to tonight. I have to go get my hair done.”

“But you didn’t sleep last night either!” Giwook bursts out, worried and guilty. Harin, similarly visibly worried, follows it up with a statistic about how lack of sleep impacts the development of children’s brains.

Yonghoon somehow makes it to the door and through all of their worried questions, smiling in an awkward way, like he’s not quite sure what to do with other people’s concern. He moves to take off the quilt around his shoulders, but Dongmyeong forcibly pushes it down.

“Keep the blanket at least,” Dongmyeong says, and Yonghoon’s hands come up to clutch at the edges of it, drawing it closer to his chest as me whispers a quiet thanks.

Hyungu touches his hand briefly and smiles, one of his smiles that look shy but aren’t shy at all, and Yonghoon smiles back, some of the hesitation bleeding out of his expression.

Giwook watches him for a moment, as he pulls on his expensive leather shoes, his friends hounding him with concerned questions and pleas to take care. This man, in his designer clothes, a ragged lap blanket around his shoulders, in the middle of their tiny dark hallway, looking like he desperately doesn’t want to leave.

“I’ll walk you downstairs, Yonghoon-sii,” Giwook says, and Yonghoon tries to protest but Giwook just walks past him, expecting him to follow, since it worked so well last time. A moment later, he does.

They’re quiet as they make their way downstairs. Giwook’s memories of the evening feel strange, both too-real and perfectly unreal at the same time. Was that really platinum selling artist Jin Yonghoon sitting on the floor of his living room, laughter torn from his throat like he hadn’t had cause to let it loose in a while? Or was it just a mirage?

There’s a big black car already idling outside when they get to the front door. Yonghoon offers him an apologetic smile.

“Thank you for dinner, Giwook-ssi,” he says, “sorry for-”

Giwook cuts him off. “Hyung,” he says, “you should join our band. We practice every other Friday, 10 o’clock. I’ll text you the directions to the practice space.”

Yonghoon pauses, mouth opened in a perfect ‘o’ of surprise. “Oh,” he says.

“I know you’re busy,” Giwook says, almost shyly. “But we’d like it if you could make it.”

“Okay,” Yonghoon says after a moment and the expression on his face makes Giwook look away, feeling like he’s seeing something too private, too vulnerable. “I’ll try.”

And for a moment, there are arms wrapped around his shoulders, a strong chest under his cheek, and the smell of expensive cologne. And then Yonghoon pulls away from the hug and rushes out the door.

“See you next Friday, hyung!” Giwook yells after him. Yonghoon turns around to wink at him.

“Cya-then!” he says, grinning like there aren't tear tracks on his cheeks and Giwook, helpless, smiles back.

“It’s not pronounced like that!” he yells but Yonghoon is already disappearing behind dark tinted windows, the car barely waiting for the door to close before it’s speeding away.

Giwook looks at the direction it left in for a while, just letting the cool autumn breeze ruffle his hair until his phone buzzes in his pocket.

_ ‘You look so cool standing under the streetlights like that,’ _ Dongmyeong has sent him,  _ ‘like some sort of drama protagonist.’ _

Giwook looks up, at the kitchen window he knows they must be crowded around, and promptly shows them the finger. He can almost hear their laughter echo as he turns and goes back inside.

  
  


*

  
  


3.

  
  


The command deck in front of him malfunctions with a sharp loud noise and Hyungu throws himself back to avoid the sparks. A shout from Giwook’s position at the navigational center tells him he’s having the same problem.

“What’s the status?” he yells in Giwook’s direction.

“Not good, captain,” comes Giwook’s grim reply.

“Fuck,” Hyungu mutters to himself. 

The spaceship Little Prince is a clunker, made mostly out of a Russian cosmonaut transport vehicle, patched up with spare parts upon spare parts and bullied into something that’s at least passably able to transport goods to the outer reaches of the galaxy.

Hyungu and his crew have been in the delivery business for a while, basically since Giwook turned into an adult and taking him away wouldn’t get them saddled with kidnapping chargers. 

The ship is equipped to haul all sorts of things, from info chips to toilet paper, and it’s surprisingly the latter that had gotten them in trouble at their last port. They got in a confrontation with some spacers that were apparently building an illegal stockpile of the stuff and were willing to brawl for what they evidently wanted. It was all fun and games until one of them pulled out an ancient looking phaser and shot Dongmyeong in the throat.

“Harin! How’s he holding up?” Hyungu asks, because he can’t bear to turn his head in the direction of their makeshift medbay where Harin is trying his best to patch up Dongmyeong.

“He’s stable,” Harin yells back and Hyungu feels his knees go weak with relief, “I’ve got him on some blood-replenishers and the nanobots in his system should take care of the damage. He just needs a calm and stable place to rest for a while and he’ll be good.”

“Well, calm and stable places are in short supply,” Giwook says and Hyungu can hear the relief through the stress in his voice. “I don’t think we can stay up.”

“Yeah, we’re going down,” Hyung says with a calm he doesn’t feel. “How far till the asteroid, Giwook?”

There’s a pause as Giwook types into his tablet. Without the ship’s navigational system, he’s forced to do most of his calculations blind. “We’ll make it,” he says finally.

“Alright,” Hyungu says, even though all of the instruments on the command deck that are still working say that there’s absolutely no way that’s true. He’s learned to trust Giwook on things like these. He trusts his piloting skills too. “Prepare for emergency landing protocols. Harin?”

“I’ve got him,” Harin confirms and Hyungu nods, turns on what’s left of the manual piloting system, and sets off to save their lives.

Somewhat miraculously, they land on the asteroid without incident. Well, okay, they lose more than half of their haul, which will get them in trouble with some very important people probably, and the ship’s logistical protocols are totally shot, but it’s probably nothing that he and Harin can’t fix with a little bit of elbow grease and access to spare parts.

Most importantly, they’re all alive. Even Dongmyeong is starting to look better, half-mummified in bandages as he is. Hyungu had always thought that bandages were old-timey medicine, but Harin repeatedly assures him that they’ll help Dongmyeong, and he’s inclined to trust him. Harin is very wise about a lot of things, including the inner workings of spaceship engines, early 20th century blues musicians and the xenobiology of nine different alien species.

They wrestle Dongmyeong into a space suit and head out. There’s supposed to be an old mining outpost on the asteroid, and they intend to raid it for supplies before returning to their shell of a ship. 

Their surroundings are one seemingly never ending desert, the sand sitting unnaturally still in the windless air. Their footsteps leave clear indents in the ground and it gives Hyungu goosebumps to see them. It stings his lungs breathing in the dry air, imaginary, since his spacesuit filters all the debris. It’s eerie.

Giwook spots the outpost first, because even outside of a spaceship, his navigational instincts are exceptional. He calls them over on comms, and Harin heads towards it, carrying Dongmyeong, while Hyungu shadows his steps. All is still.

Hyungu looks behind them and has a brief moment to register the unnatural way the sand moves under their feet before he instinctively yanks Harin out of the way of a huge shape exploding from the ground. 

It’s some kind of tall ribbed wormlike creature and very unfortunately, it’s very resistant to blaster fire. In a matter of moments, Hyungu is out of power just keeping it at bay, and the creature shows no signs of slowing down. A single swipe of its tail hits his arm, leaving an indent in his suit and he grits his teeth against the pain and the suit’s alarms going off in his ears. He sees the next hit coming but knows he can’t avoid it, because Harin is right behind him with Dongmyeong and if Hyungu ducks, they’ll get hit instead. He braces for the hit.

It doesn’t come.

A long piece of dark wood expertly parries the blow, as a tall figure suddenly stands in front of Hyungu, blocking him from harm.

A transmission comes over his comms, scratchy and broken up in a way that means either that Hyungu’s radio system is broken or that the figure is using very outdated equipment.

“When I tell you to go, run as fast as you can towards the outpost,” the figure says, the message broken up but understandable. 

“Copy that,” Hyungu says after a moment of hesitation, almost wincing at how raspy his voice sounds. He reaches out behind him to bump his hand against Harin’s flank, gets his soft confirmation a moment later, followed by Giwook’s.

The creature, dizzy from the figure’s blows, finally rights itself, seemingly ready for another attack. Instead of lashing out with his staff like Hyungu expects him to, the figure drops the weapon to his side, and reaches out to unlatch his helmet.

Hyungu muffles his shout. Taking your helmet off in the almost hundred degree atmosphere means giving up any protection the space suit offers you. Certain death.

He thinks he catches the barest glimpse of a smile before the figure opens their mouth. The resulting sound seems to echo and amplify in the empty space around them, haunting and achingly beautiful. 

The worm creature freezes and the figure motions frantically towards the outpost. Hyungu doesn’t think - he runs, herding Harin in front of him, grabbing for Giwook’s hand as he passes. He’s moving as fast as he can, but the figure still outpaces him, overtaking them with their long legs and wrenching the door of the outpost so they can all pile inside.

The heavy titanium door slams shut behind them and Hyungu finally breathes a sigh of relief. They’re safe, for now. He turns towards the figure that’s now fully taken off its helmet, revealing a smooth face with delicate features. They look fairly human but that doesn’t really mean much. Nothing fully human could survive out in that desert for a second, much less sing.

So maybe they’ve got a hidden set of gills somewhere to filter through the dust. Hyungu can't judge - he’s got a set of tentacles coming from the base of his spine, mostly non-functional and a quirk of his mixed genetics. He wears them wrapped around his waist like a decorative belt. 

He takes off his own helmet, judging from the sparse readings on his equipment that it’s safe to do so. The air outside is stale but welcome.

“That’s some rescue you pulled off out there,” he says. “Thank you. I’m Hyungu, and this is my crew.”

“You’re welcome,” the figure rasps, and Hyungu can’t tell if his voice is rusty from the high note or from disuse. “I’m Yonghoon.”

“Thank you, Yonghoon,” Hyungu says, and he means it. “Over there are Harin, Giwook and Dongmyeong.”

His crew takes it as a cue to take off their helmets, Harin grinning widely but visibly exhausted, and Giwook smiling shyly.

“Ah,” Yonghoon says, and seems uncomfortable to be put on the spot. “It’s okay. Is your friend hurt?”

“Yeah,” Harin says, frowning, “is there somewhere we could check on him? We should take a look at your arm too, Hyungu.”

“I’m fine,” Hyungu says, but Harin’s look says he’s not buying it.

The outpost is bigger than it seems on the outside. The front hall is tall and cavernous, with massively outdated equipment lining the walls. There’s even what seems like some transport pods in various states of disrepair, surrounded by tools that are gathering dust.

Yonghoon leads them from the hall and into a smaller living area, where Harin and Giwook load Dongmyeong onto a bunk bed. Hyungu is relieved to see that despite the excitement, Dongmyeong’s color seems better.

As a distraction from the pain, Hyungu looks around the living area. It’s meant to be communal, but it’s obvious that Yonghoon is the only one living there, from the one plate in the sink in the kitchen area to the single mussed up bed. It’s on the tip of Hyungu’s tongue to ask what they’re doing out there all alone but he bites his tongue. It’s none of his business. 

Maybe Hyungu is a little bit loopy from the pain or leftover adrenaline, so what comes out of his mouth is something else.

“Hey, Yonghoon,” he says, “do you want to join our band?”

“Your band?” Yonghoon asks, sounding bemused.

“Our band of space travelling pirates,” Hyungu tells him, entirely serious while Giwook begins to laugh under his breath. So some of the cargo they’d been travelling with wasn’t exactly legal, sue him, the transport business didn’t pay all that well. The illegal transport business, however? Well, paid only marginally better. But Hyungu isn’t finished.

“And also our actual band,” he continues, “we have gigs sometimes in ports we frequent a lot. We all play instruments. Dongmyeong is our vocalist, but I think his voice might be out of commission for a little while.”

“Uh,” Yonghoon says.

Hyungu’s world is suddenly looking quite a bit more spinny. “So what do you say?” he slurs out.

“I think you should probably lie down,” Yonghoon says, sounding curiously happy.

  
  


*

  
  


4.

  
  


“We already have a main vocal,” Hyungu says, in his calm leader voice that nonetheless fails to conceal that he’s seething. Dongmyeong straightens under the attention, meeting the company executive’s gaze head on. Beneath the conference table, he’s holding on to Giwook’s hand, comforted by the familiar shape of it. He feels like the carpet’s been swept from under his feet.

“The two vocal band structures have worked out well in the past-” the executive begins but Dongmyeong tunes him out. The message behind his words is clear enough to him - Dongmyeong isn’t good enough.

Despite all the vocal training he’s done, despite his piano skills, despite all the time he’s invested in learning how to dance, how to play the keytar, into how to dance AND play keytar, he’s just not enough for this band to be successful.

Harin’s hand comes to rest on his knee, a comforting point of contact, like the other man knows what Dongmyeong is thinking. They probably all know what he’s thinking. They’ve been together for so long that they can probably read Dongmyeong’s doubts right off his face.

The executive gets cut off by a knock on the door. “And there he is, the man of the hour!” he says.

The door swings open, but Dongmyeong refuses to move his gaze away from the fixed point on the wall. He knows what he’s going to see anyway. Jin Yonghoon is tall and handsome and perfect, like the main vocal of one of the biggest groups under their company should be. Dongmyeong used to like him, when they met up in the corridors, or at music shows when they were both promoting at the same time. Yonghoon always acted the helpful hyung, looking out for them and buying them snacks. 

But now his group has imploded, falling apart due to a scandal and resulting poor album sales, and Yonghoon is the only one left. And someone at the company had the bright idea to stick him in Dongmyeong’s band as a second vocalist.

From a business standpoint, it probably makes sense. Their fanbases have a lot of crossover anyway, and Giwook has produced songs for Yonghoon’s voice before.

But emotionally? Dongmyeong can’t help but feel pushed out of the band he’s been building since he was a teen.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Yonghoon bowing to the executive. Politeness decrees that they should stand up and bow to him too. Dongmyeong doesn’t move from his seat and neither do any of the others.

“Well, why don’t you all sit down and get to know each other better!” the executive says and Dongmyeong can barely hear him over the buzzing in his ears. There’s a framed poster of Yonghoon’s former group’s first comeback framed on the wall and Dongmyeong briefly entertains the notion of smashing it over the executive’s head. The man leaves with a wave and some empty promises to check in on them later. Yonghoon stays standing by the door and the band stays seated.

Dongmyeong catches Hyungu looking at him, concern written all over his face, and he realizes with startling clarity, that they’re all waiting to follow his cue. It makes a sliver of something warm cut through the coldness in the pit of his stomach. 

It gives him the courage to stand up on wobbly feet, shaking off Harin’s hand and letting go of Giwook’s.

“Why don’t you guys take a break,” Dongmyeong says, and he doesn’t recognize his own voice. “Yonghoon hyung and I are going to go to the practice room, and work on some vocals.”

Hyungu looks like he wants to protest but Dongmyeong pauses to squeeze his shoulder and he stays quiet. He walks out of the room, right past Yonghoon without looking at him, expecting him to follow. After a moment, he hears footsteps behind him and he leads down the hallway and into one of the small practice rooms he knows is free because it’s the one he’s got his keyboard set up in. He was about to work on some songs before they got called in for the meeting.

“Close the door behind you,” he says softly, and a moment later it clicks shut. He heads to the keyboard bench, sinking into it with a sigh. There are musical notes scattered across the keys and he gathers them up, leafing through them and smiling at the little messages Hyungu has written in the margins, in their own silly little language of band in-jokes.

He hears Yonghoon’s breathing hitch behind him.

“Dongmyeong, I’m so sorry,” Yonghoon bursts out, and Dongmyeong looks up from the papers, alarmed. “I can ask them to call this off, if we keep pushing they’re bound to listen, it’s unfair to saddle you with me -”

He sounds defeated. Dongmyeong allows himself to finally look at him fully. Yonghoon seems exhausted, with dark circles that can’t quite be covered by makeup. His hoodie is too small for him, evidently borrowed. He’s tall but he seems smaller, hunched over like he is, and older, washed out by the neon lights. He’s speaking to Dongmyeong with a directed intensity, a painful sort of earnestness.

He looks devastated and hurt and lost, and Dongmyeong has always had the unfortunate propensity towards picking up stays.

“Hyung,” he says, softly, as gently as he can with the open wound still bleeding in his chest, “sit down.”

Yonghoon folds himself onto the piano seat next to him like a puppet with cut strings. Dongmyeong wants to touch his shoulder, but it seems like it would be crossing a line that he himself has drawn. Instead he lets his fingers touch the keys, the familiarity calming his nerves. He just plays for a little while, until at least some of the tension between them is gone and Yonghoon is subtly straining forward to try to get a glimpse of the notes.

Dongmyeong lets his hands go still, allowing his gaze to wander to the mirrored wall of the practice room, at their figures leaning over the small keyboard, Yonghoon hunched down so their heights match.

“Hyung,” he says quietly, as the last notes fade away in the empty space, “would you like to be in my band?”

And he knows he sounds choked up, but Yonghoon is sniffling too, so he forgives himself for it. “Yeah,” Yonghoon says quietly, “I’d like to be in a band with you.”

“Alright,” Dongmyeong says, trying for bright and probably missing by a mile. “You have fifty songs to learn in about two weeks. Good luck!”

Yonghoon’s theatrical groan makes him smile for the first time in a while.

  
  


*

  
  


+1

Harin gets chosen to do it by virtue of being the tallest and therefore consequently the most impressive. Or at least that’s what Dongmyeong says as he coaches him through what to say.

“Remember,” he says, brushing imaginary dirt off Harin’s jacket, “you’ve got to reel him in, make him want it! Don’t just blurt it out. Sweeten it!”

“Sweeten it with what exactly?” Harin asks, because half of their band is still in middle school and they spend most of their time playing covers or making up tunes around Dongmyeong’s angstiest poetry. Hyungu breaks at least one guitar string per practice because he can only afford to buy the cheapest ones and he always goes too hard. Dongmyeong has got all the star power but very little polish, and he’s only started to learn the piano. It’s obvious to all of them that Giwook is a genius but sometimes his bass guitar seems too big for his small frame and he can’t rap a full verse without getting out of breath. And Harin? Well, Harin is the tallest right now, though that’s subject to change.

He briefly entertains the thought of Dongmyeong growing taller than him and has to shudder in fear. 

Jin Yonghoon is already taller than Harin. He’s also handsome and confident, with a natural presence on stage. And his voice - his voice makes Harin want to practice the drums until he can feel worthy of supporting it. 

His voice is the whole reason he’s even considering approaching Jin Yonghoon instead of distracting the kids with promises of Burger King and more practice time. His voice is why he’s standing behind a stage fixture, Hyungu plastered against his back and Dongmyeong muttering encouragement in his ear while Giwook elbows him in the ribs, as they all try to catch a glimpse of Yonghoon.

“He’s coming this way!” Hyungu hisses and then there’s a flurry of movement, and Harin finds himself pushed out from relative safety and straight into Yonghoon’s path.

“Uh,” he says and bows hastily. Yonghoon bows back, looking a little bemused. “Hello, h-hyung,” he stutters a little, but Yonghoon doesn’t seem upset, just curious, so he continues, “congratulations on the award. Your voice is amazing!”

“Thank you,” Yonghoon says, smiling slightly, before the confusion on his face suddenly clears. “Ah, you’re from the band, right?”

“Yes, I’m Harin,” Harin says, feeling a little relieved to be put into context, “and we’re called MAS.”

“I liked your performance,” Yonghoon says, and he could just be being polite, but Harin preens a little anyway, “did they leave you all alone here?”

“Uh,” Harin says, checks to see if Yonghoon might be mocking him but all he can read is polite interest and curiosity, “they’re right here actually.”

He waves towards the stage and thankfully the rest of the band understand his cue, trudging out from behind the fixture and bowing politely, muttering introductions.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Yonghoon says and he still seems a little confused. Harin feels like he should go on with it, before Yonghoon loses interest and leaves.

“Actually, we wanted to talk to you about something,” he says. He glances at the band for ideas but only finds hopeful faces.  _ ‘Sweeten the deal,’ _ Dongmyong’s voice whispers in his ear. 

The truth is, he could tell Yonghoon a lot of things. He could tell him how Dongmyeong is the hardest worker he’s ever met, how he’s learning to sing and play piano and dance, and how despite being tired he constantly works to bring everyone’s mood up. He could tell him how they’re all pretty sure Giwook is a genius, the way he can look at the barest bones of a melody and build it into something coherent, something beautiful. He could tell him about how Hyungu reads all the time, using his own words and borrowed symbols to write something that lingers, something that’s meaningful.

He could tell him that Harin is so proud of them sometimes that it hurts in his chest like the time he was fourteen and he broke his wrist and he couldn’t play drums for a whole month, and his palms itched with the absence of his sticks like a missing limb. 

He opens his mouth.

“Please join our band!” is what he says instead, wincing at the volume of his voice. Yonghoon blinks at him, startled. Somewhere behind him, Dongmyeong whispers ‘oh my god,’ under his breath.

And then - 

Yonghoon smiles, and it’s slow and bright like the sunrise that Harin watches every morning on his way to school. It lights up his whole face and it brightens up the room.

“Yeah, okay,” Yonghoon says, “I’ll join your band.”

“Wait, really?” Harin asks, befuddled.

“Yeah,” Yonghoon says, grinning, “tell me the time and place and I’ll be there for practice.”

Harin, helpless in the face of his smile and his own relief, can only smile back.

“How the heck did he just pull this off?” Dongmyeong whispers somewhere behind him, sounding awed.

“I told you,” Giwook whispers back, “Harin hyung is made of magic.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/leewoong). If you liked this fic, please leave me a comment and tell me what your favorite part was? 
> 
> Anyway, Harin is magic, don't forget to [stream Parting](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SN7NLdiwcnk&ab_channel=ONEWE) and check out other fics in the fest!


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